


Thorn Amongst the Roses

by Jonaira



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Adventure, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dragon Riders, Dragons, Flower Crowns, Freedom, Gen, Healing, Humor, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Roses, travelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:22:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6757684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonaira/pseuds/Jonaira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorn and Murtagh fly away to heal post the final battle, and a good tail wind brings them to spot of simple peace.<br/>Official Artwork for this piece can be found here http://jonairadsylva.deviantart.com/art/Thorn-Amongst-the-Roses-601725189</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thorn Amongst the Roses

The scent was so potent, that Thorn smelled the small thicket bordering a cliff from more than a thousand feet up in the rare mountain air of the Spine. Their mutual curiosity flaring across their link, Murtagh felt an additional sense of satisfaction from Thorn. At Murtagh’s tendril of questioning thought, Thorn explained while he banked towards the cliff edge. “We have the freedom to act at our own discretion, masters of our own whims and fancies." 

"Finally,” emphasised Murtagh.

“Maybe for you it is finally, but for me this is the first time I’ve not had to bow down before anything but my own will. It is…empowering.” he mused.

Murtagh closed his mind off partly from Thorn at that, who accepted the  withdrawal of contact without question, so that Thorn might not feel the sharp pang of grief and rage that went through him at what Thorn had suffered at Galbatorix’s hands. But then all thoughts but for naked awe ceased as Thorn alighted upon the edge of the cliff, and as one they marveled at the vista before them.

As they looked closer, what Murtagh had first taken to be snow resolved itself into carpet upon carpet of white roses, that grew along the tops and sides of the trees bordering the cliff edge. The clustering of the bushes increased as they grew away from the edge, forming a bramble draped tunnel that led into a small glade, the interior of which glowed a diffused pink-gold in the light of the setting sun that filtered through the leaves.

The perfume of thousands of flowers was intoxicating enough to make him feel light headed, and as he  looked closely at the walls of the tunnel, roses in every shade of red and pink winked out at him, studding the sides like so many rubies and quartz. As they walked closer, the sheer size of the tunnel’s mouth made itself known; it was wide across to take the entirety of Thorn with his wings outstretched. And the roses were on average about a foot in diameter while in full bloom.

The dying rays of the sun receded as they reveled in the view and when the moon rose, Murtagh gathered firewood from the dried rose tree branches and together with Thorn, curled up by the mouth of the tunnel and watched as the fireflies lit up the land.

“Freedom suits us,"  commented Thorn wryly. "I’ve never been one for omens and foretellings, but yes, the very first night of our freedom spent nestled amidst such beauty bodes well for the rest of our travels.” replied Murtagh.

Thorn hummed with bone deep satisfaction. “Sing me a song, Moon-Eyes.” he asked quietly, using the nickname he’d given Murtagh when still very young, fascinated as he’d been by the similarity of Murtagh’s grey eyes to the moon.

So Murtagh sang him a melody he distantly remembered being sung to him by one of his nursemaids as a child himself, watching Thorn’s eyes drift shut and the embers of their fire die out. Just when he was sure that Thorn was sound asleep though, the dragon stretched out a wing with a faint rustle of velvety skin over Murtagh, cutting out the wind. Sleepy gratitude emanated from the dragon and Thorn opened his mind to Murtagh’s completely, so that they could romp through their dreams and struggle through their  nightmares as one, like they had done for so long now. 

He woke up stiff the next morning from flying the previous whole day. Thorn had hunted the previous afternoon and wouldn’t require a meal for a couple more days given the pace they planned to be flying at, but Murtagh’s belly growled loud enough that the deep rumble of Thorn’s laugh sounded as he lifted his wing so that Murtagh could climb out and fix his own breakfast.

As he explored the glade for berries while Thorn slumbered on, he found himself picking roses as well, trying to match their shades to the sparkling ruby of Thorn’s scales. The morning light tinted everything a pale gold but he soon had an armful of flowers and double handfuls of scratches and cuts.

A funny sort of determination came over him. Wolfing down the berries he got to work. When Thorn stirred awake for good, he looked at what Murtagh had been working on for a long moment, head cocked.

“Has the mountain air left you lightheaded maybe ?” He asked with mock concern, doing a poor job of concealing his itching curiosity and amusement at the sight before him.

A small but ever growing pile of thorns lay at the base of Zar'roc, the gleaming blade of which was stuck in the dirt. Murtagh sat before the sword cross-legged, edge facing him and busily scraping the thorns off a few long stemmed roses at a time against the blade.

“Ah, good you’re up. Model this for me would you,” he said in a distracted sort of fashion. This as it turned out,  was about half a dozen rose crowns, their stems  braided together neatly, which Murtagh held up.

“If you’ve eaten poisonous berries, we need to get you to throw up immediately” Thorn said with alarm, springing to his feet. Murtagh levels him with look, the corners of his mouth twitching with suppressed mirth. “Relax Thorn. I’m better than fine. The song I sang for you last night reminded me of my old childhood nursemaid, and how when her young daughter would accompany her to the palace, she’d let me play with her. I remember learning to make these then, although I never was allowed to be seen wearing them outside of my room’s gardens.”

Then, somewhat plaintively he added, “I’ve quite missed them. Tornac found them amusing but he never discouraged me from practicing. He maintained that if I ever turned out to be a failure at sword fighting, and had to live as a commoner, I’d have at least some semblance of a livelihood.”

Satisfied with the explanation, Thorn flumped down on the grass, deeply furrowing the earth as he kneaded the cool mud with his claws.“I’d have never thought a rider’s sword to be put to this use, much less this very blade. Zar'roc, bringer of misery to all things green and leafy.” he snorted.

Murtagh finished plaiting the last of the buds and climbed onto his seat between Thorn’s shoulders. He arranged them on Thorn’s horns and dorsal line of spikes. The strong smell upclose made Thorn sneeze, but overall, he seemed rather pleased at the effort that Murtagh taken to gift him the crowns.

“What would somebody say if they were to see a mighty dragon wearing the accessories better suited to that of a young maiden?” wondered Murtagh.

“They would say I wear it better than any maiden in Alagaësia, and then they would say no more, for they would be in my belly.”Thorn said smugly.

Murtagh grinned. “That’s my Thorn.”


End file.
